Earth's Greatest Magus

These were the brothers he had trained with.

The ones he shared pain and joy with.

The brothers who had gone through a lifetime by his side.

And now, they stood before him once more.

Not as fading memories, but as breathing, fighting warriors.

Shockingly, not only did they look identical to how he remembered them—their movements, their techniques, even their speech—everything felt real.

“Brother,” said Arjuna with a somber smile as he readied his bow. “Praise the gods we get to do this one more time.”

Bima laughed heartily, hefting his enormous mace onto his shoulder. “I feel so powerful… maybe this time, we’ll win!”

The twins, Nakula and Sadewa, nodded silently and vanished in a flash of movement, moving like twin winds, waiting for an opening.

Ashaka closed his eyes, letting out a heavy breath.

“Magus realms… This is what you all could have become… if only I hadn’t failed.”

From the stands, Klea shouted, voice cracking with desperation. “Senior! Don’t let her into your mind!!!”

But her voice barely reached him, drowned out by the whispers of guilt and pain echoing in his own soul.

Hera’s technique was not simply spirit summoning. It was her Law of Reality in full display—a cruel alchemy of memory and illusion, blending past and present. Using the divine Feathers of Omniscience, she had pulled these warriors from Ashaka’s heart and bound them into this twisted reality.

Once again, Hera chuckled from her perch. “A man like you, who spent centuries suppressing emotion, is the perfect prey for me.”

Ashaka was crumbling—physically battered and mentally torn apart. The four warriors around him were not just formidable foes. They were his brothers. Trained in the same discipline. Sharpened in the same battles. Bound by the same vows.

Each one moved with the grace and rhythm, echoing techniques they had once mastered together. But what broke him wasn’t their strength—it was their familiarity. They moved exactly as they had in life. They knew his steps, his rhythm… even the techniques he’d developed after they had perished.

Their bond was so deep, not even death had erased their synchronicity.

It was both heartwarming and terrifying.

It was cruel. MyVirtualLibraryEmpire(M-VLEMPYR)

“I’m sorry…” Ashaka murmured, his voice thick with anguish. “I’m sorry for all of it…”

Bima’s mace came crashing down. Arjuna’s arrows sang through the air. The twins blurred in from either flank. Their coordinated attack came as one devastating storm.

Blood poured from Ashaka’s robes. His divine techniques cracked under the pressure.

And yet, even as he stumbled, even as shadows of the past closed in to strike the killing blow, something ancient stirred within the old monk.

He raised his trembling hands into a prayer mudra. His lips moved, silent and steady. And then, from deep inside the storm of memory and pain—a fire lit in his eyes.

A shuddering shockwave blasted outward.

His golden aura turned darker—burnished gold threaded with dark smokes. The very air seemed to bend around him as power surged through his broken form.

Behind him, a towering figure emerged—a wrathful deity carved from divine shadow. Four furious faces, each a mask of rage and grief. Eight arms, each brimming with celestial judgment.

[Asura Awakening]

This was a sacred technique—a forbidden one—that he had kept buried deep within his memory. Now, it finally broke free, unleashing a surge of overwhelming power. A half-step into the realm of the domain.

The battlefield fell into stunned silence.

And then, Ashaka moved.

He appeared before Bima with the force of a thunderclap. One of his divine arms caught the descending mace mid-air, halting it with ease. Another struck Bima’s ribs. A third slammed into his throat. A fourth cracked against his shoulder—blow after blow, each strike a hammer forged in grief and fury.

“You were my shield… and I let you down…”

With a final roar, Ashaka slammed all eight fists into Bima’s chest. The warrior’s form shattered into golden dust.

No time to mourn.

Arjuna released a flurry of arrows. Ashaka spun, catching three mid-air. He darted forward, his movement now too fast to follow. He landed beside Arjuna and whispered,

“You always trusted me… even when I couldn’t trust myself…”

His hands became a blur of precise strikes—each one gentle, then brutal. He crushed the bow, disarmed the fighter, and finally, wrapped his arms around Arjuna as if in a farewell embrace.

Arjuna faded into motes of light.

The twins struck next—daggers aimed for Ashaka’s back and chest. They were fast, clever, and inseparable as always.

But Ashaka turned, his lower arms deflecting both blades with divine precision.

“You two were my joy…” he whispered. “The last light in dark days…”

A burst of golden energy radiated from his palms. One hand froze Sadewa in a sheath of ice. The other set Nakula aflame with divine fire. The twins reached for one another in vain, before crumbling into nothingness.

Silence fell.

Ashaka stood in the middle of the arena, surrounded by the ashes of what once was—brothers in arms, now reduced to smoke and memory.

Tears streamed freely down Ashaka’s bloodstained face, mingling with sweat and ash. His fists trembled at his sides, no longer clenched in fury but wracked with grief.

Then he let out a scream—not a victorious cry, but a guttural, soul-rending roar of agony. It echoed through the cosmic coliseum like a wounded god’s lament, shaking the very air with its depth.

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause. To them, it was a moment of triumph. The Earth faction had overcome another trial. It seemed the Earth faction was about to claim another victory.

But then, he stopped.

Just a few meters in front of Hera, Ashaka halted, frozen like a statue. The radiant Asura behind him flickered and faded, and the dark gold aura around his body began to thin like morning mist.

He didn’t turn to face her. He didn’t fall. He simply stood.

Still. Silent. Unmoving.

Confused murmurs rippled through the arena. Even the commentators paused, unsure of what they were witnessing.

Hera tilted her head and gave a slow, amused chuckle.

And then—she whispered.

“There you are…” she said softly. “My brave warrior has finally returned.”

Immediately, Ashaka moved.

His body turned stiffly, mechanically—like a puppet on strings—toward the Earth faction’s side. His face, moments ago twisted in grief, was now utterly expressionless. His glowing eyes had dulled, emptied of will.

All the Earth warriors stood in shock.

“Master Ashaka?!”

The alarmed shout came from Titus, followed by Armenus, both rising to their feet in panic.

“What is happening to Master Ashaka?!”

Klea was already trembling, her voice barely above a whisper as she answered, “She… she’s has completely taken over…”

This—this was what Klea had feared from the very beginning.

Hera’s power wasn’t just brute force. Her divine law dug deeper—into memory, emotion, regret—feeding on the target’s guilt, until their will shattered. Then, like a surgeon of minds, she invaded the soul and rewrote it.

Ashaka wasn’t just manipulated.

He was enslaved.

Realizing the situation, Klea stepped and shouted toward the arena, her voice clear and desperate:

“We surrender! You win”

But unfortunately… the Queen of Kronos had something else in mind.

Hera’s smile only widened, twisting with amusement and cruelty.